


One Epistolary Solution

by Mikkeneko



Series: Anders Goes to Orzammar [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Attempts at Antivan, Epistolary, F/M, Gen, letter format
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of letters written to and from various characters in the 'One Elegant Solution' universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zevran to Natya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Zevran Arainai to the Hero of Ferelden, Natya Brosca.

**To the esteemed Warden-Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden, Natya Brosca –**

Another letter to carry my words across the sea to your beautiful eyes. How I long to make the journey in person, that I might see them myself; but alas, cruel duty still holds me bound in its chains. Rest assured that although I am far from you, my thoughts ever dwell on you for every hour of the day. In the crimson of every flower I see your hair, in every glimpse of the sea I see your eyes, in every woman’s laughter I hear your battle-cry. Ah, how can a man sleep alone, with such memories crowding close upon him?

The chase continues. Guildmaster Lucrezia got word of my coming, though I am not certain how. I am quite confident I left none of her scouts remaining to report back; perhaps it was that very lack of word which alerted her to the danger? At any rate, she has retreated to the guild-house in Hercinia. The guild-house is a veritable fortress when closed up; I am considering avenues of pursuit, though at this time I will say no more, for fear of this letter falling into unfriendly talons.

Of note: While dispatching a few fledglings in the wilderness outside Markham, I ran across an old mutual friend. Perhaps you will remember him? He worried at first that you would not bear him great fondness, but as I reassured him, time  **heals**  all wounds.

I suggested that perhaps our mutual friend would enjoy a vacation to your old home town, for nostalgia’s sake. I am dispatching him, along with a letter of his own, to await your perusal, though I strongly suspect that in this matter you and I will be of one mind.

Though I know how much you despise sea travel, my love, I must ask you to take ship once more. It is but a short distance across the sea to Ostwick, where you will find our mutual friend and bring him safely home to Amaranthine. He will be waiting at the inn where we spent our first honeymoon; how fast the days since then have flown, no?

My candle gutters low and my pen scratches dry of ink, so it is time to bring this missive to a close. Mia tesorina, mio cuore, mia innamorata, how my arms will ache with emptiness when I lie without you. Let me leave you with these words, since I know how much you love to hear me speak in my mother tongue:

Se resterei con te ora, prenderei i tuoi polsi nelle mie mani e ti bacerei in ogni luogo, dalle tue labbra alle tue palpebre ed alla tua gola, così sentirei il battito del tuo sangue sotto la pelle. Ti farei sdraiare al nostro letto con cura, dolcemente; ti spoglierei, ti carezzerei, ti adorerei completamente.  Insieme raggiungeremmo fino a il culmine di passione e poi…

Well, I will leave you to imagine the rest. May the Maker grant that we will see each other soon, and substitute sweet acts for mere words.

Until that day, I remain – as I was, am, and always and ever shall be – your man.  
 _Zevran Arainai_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the few words of non-English that Zevran speaks in the game are more Spanish than Italian; but no native language is ever specified or described for Antiva, and the location is _explicitly_ described as being based on an Italian city-state; to the point where it was originally named Calabria before they realized that was an actual place in Italy, and still has several explicitly Italian place names. So Italian it is.
> 
> Many thanks to eijentu for her help with the Italian sections, without whom we would have had only a terrible Google Translation approximation.


	2. Stroud to De Launcet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Warden Jean-Marc Stroud to Warden Raoul de Launcet.

**Greetings from Senior Warden Jean-Marc Stroud, detached, reporting to Warden-Commander Clarel de Chanson, Commander of the Grey, Orlais, to Lieutenant-Commander of the Grey, Raoul de Launcet, Starkhaven. Lieutenant-Commander:**

I have already told you there is nothing more to be said on the matter. Commander Brosca has made her recommendation, Commander de Chanson has endorsed it, and the First Warden has accepted it. They need no one else’s approval, including yours, and are not obliged to pay attention to anyone’s dissent, including yours. I am not certain why you persist in your objections, as this matter does not even touch upon Warden business in the Free Marches region at all. But, if it will help settle your mind, I will go over it again.

The dwarves of Orzammar are planning an advance into the Deep Roads surrounding their kingdom. That is a fact, and there is nothing the Grey Wardens can – or should – do to stop it. Certainly we have no business telling the King of Orzammar what he can and cannot do underground. But, it is also a fact that their march on the Deep Roads is almost certain to stir up things in the Deep Roads that have long been left in the dark – new kinds of Spawn, new information on their breeding practices, or – the possibility cannot be avoided – information on the resting place of further Archdemons. With this in mind it is absolutely imperative that the Grey Wardens have a representative on the ground, as it were, to provide first-hand witness of the events and pass them along to us as necessary.

All this you know perfectly well. Your objection, therefore, is not to the necessity of a Grey Warden agent on the scene and more to the particular identity of this Grey Warden. Might I remind you, again, that the management of individual Wardens is a matter for their Commanders and not for outsiders? If Warden Commander Brosca, the Hero of Ferelden, has put her trust in this man, then it is not for us to gainsay it.

I have visited Vigil’s Keep, where this particular Warden was inducted, after the ugly business of his disappearance. I can tell you that all of his fellows in the Vigil spoke well of him, and vouched for his loyalty and reliability in combat. While there were no direct witnesses to his desertion, it was the nigh-universal opinion among them that this Templar, Rolan, had been obsessed with the mage since his Joining, and had persuaded or coerced a number of other Warden-Recruits to go along with his intention to harass and ultimately attack a fellow brother-in-arms. They set themselves upon a course of bear-baiting, and the results were eminently predictable.

It is incidents like this which drive home the fact that Grey Wardens cannot become involved with religiously motivated concerns such as those which drive the conflict between templars and apostates. The Order must be above such in-fighting. A man who takes a false oath to the Grey purely for the purpose of furthering a religious agenda is not, in my view, a great loss to the Order.

I am aware that you may see things difficulty. But the fact is, Raoul, that what you and I think of the incident is irrelevant. Larger concerns must drive our view now. Whether you approve of him or not, the fact is that this man Anders is already situated precisely where we need him the most, with the ear of the King of Orzammar and the backing of the Hero of Ferelden behind him. It would be a nigh insurmountable task to displace him, and impossible to do so without risking the enmity of the very King whose approval we would need to put another agent in his place! The Grey Wardens and the dwarves of Orzammar have long enjoyed cordial relationships, but only with the understanding that we do not interfere with their affairs, and they do not impede us in ours.

The point stands: it would be far more risk, effort and expense to try to dislodge Anders and put another in his place than it would be to simply take advantage of his presence there. To that end, the efforts of the Warden should concentrate instead on bringing him back into the fold -- by any means necessary.

Remember, as Wardens of the Grey, our focus must be ever onwards: our enemy is down there, not in here. We must not fight among ourselves, especially not over petty political or religious concerns. Let us take whatever unlikely gifts the Maker sends to battle this evil, and embrace them.

_Yrs,_  
_Jean-Marc_


	3. Messere Stabby to the Pirate Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  A copy of a letter intercepted by agents of Sister Nightingale in Llomerryn, stolen from the evidence locker within twelve hours of the ship Siren's Fury arriving at port.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was guest-written for this story by [**Reikah**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Reikah/pseuds/Reikah)! As soon as I read it, I asked for permission to include it with the main series, since she has a way with Purple-Hawke voice that I can only envy. Please feel free to tell her so.

  _[A copy of a letter intercepted by agents of Sister Nightingale in Llomerryn, stolen from the evidence locker within twelve hours of the ship Siren's Fury arriving at port]_

* * *

> To my favorite heart-worm,

Yo ho! Firstly, I hope the seas are treating you well this time of year. Secondly, I cannot actually express with mere words how delighted and thrilled I was with your recent gift - truly, your thoughtfulness has always been my favorite thing about you. I must confess, both myself and the courier you hired to deliver it across several thousand miles of Thedosian countryside - venturing through haunted forests, at least three battlefields, and _Orlais_ , horrifying enough - were at first a little surprised to discover, upon opening the crate, that the object worth so many sovereigns and so much effort was ribbed for my pleasure - but upon further solo contemplation of my gift, I believe it was worth the endeavor. And made of the finest Anderfels marble, too. Once again your gift-giving skills and _subtlety_ put me to shame, O raider of my eastern sea.

Speaking of course on the topic of shame, I trust that 'Annie Devereaux' is getting along well, and that life on the open sea suits her better than life in a city of walls and chains. I would tell you to give her my love, but I'm terribly afraid of how you would interpret that, and on further reflection I really don't want you to do that at all. Whatever you do, please don't tell me that she's reading this letter along with you in your bunk. I would much rather imagine her on the farthest possible end of the ship from your bunk, with plenty of sturdy bulkheads in between. I know it's not true, but give a poor young shaver his comforting fictions.  
  
Onto your next point - I'm glad to hear my latest batch of friends met you with no further casualties. They have seen enough of this unrest, I think. I cannot undo what was done, but I can - I strive to give each day meaning. They were not the first, and they will not be the last, but I shall see my other friends to safety in other means, so as to avoid overburdening you; you've only just had that hideous mustard lace replaced, I'd hate to sink that pretty new boat of yours. Or ship. I'm not entirely certain of the difference.  
  
Some of my friends - the ones following the lit lanterns, that is to say - have heard rumors of safe places, free from the war. I think we both know that those are air-castles, and the destination changes in the telling; I near spat out my drink laughing when some poor soul waxed lyrical to me about a safe place in the Imperium, let alone the poor deluded elf who thought Seheron could provide sanctuary - not to mention the frankly ridiculous rumor about some safe haven in Orzammar! As though the King of Dwarves could give a fig for the cause of refugees in need! Desperation breeds mad fantasies, and I'm sure there's no shortage of slave brokers setting traps in order to acquire fresh bodies for Tevinter's flesh markets. I'm sure if our broody friend were here, he'd have plenty to say on the topic... and he would probably be right.  
  
Thank you, by the way, for enclosing the lyrics. I had not heard the song, and I am, officially, mortified. I know you live to see me flush - just know that, had you or indeed anyone else been present at the reading - you would have seen me purple most satisfactorily. More so, in fact, than at the unveiling of your gift. Still, despite my general discomfort with anything that attempts to rhyme 'champion', not to mention the general romanticisation of what I recall to be a truly awful time - I was glad to read it.  
  
I knew songs had been written - our mutual friend V indicated as such in his last letter to me (did you hear he's writing a _book_ about the whole debacle? Is he trying to get himself arrested?) but as the conclusion to that affair is still something of a huge weeping abscess with him, he chose not to provide further details. He's not even at the stage where he can joke it off - he's too angry, the wound too raw.

I know I should feel the same, O Raider-Queen, but reading those song lyrics, questionable as they were - imagining him plucking them out on his lute (remember the terrible, terrible lute?) - and seeing what I have been seeing, these last few years... hearing Annie's stories about her old dormer and the things the people there _didn't_  talk about, the words and the voices and the _people_ that just vanished utterly from existence - it's been enough to ~~find~~   ~~remember~~   ~~know that~~  
  
_*The next few words are heavily crossed out and scribbled over.*_  
  
It was a bold plan, Bela. You were right all along. At the time I was ~~so scared~~ so furious I could hardly breathe, but I

_*more crossed-out text, blotted with such ferocity the nib of the pen tore the parchment*_

Time heals all wounds, so they say. I can think of some things that would heal them better. Less scar tissue. Better preserving of my Champion-y good looks.

* * *

_*The writing here onward is in a different color ink, as if added at a later time or date*_  
  
This letter grows long, and my supplies limited. I'm headed back to Ferelden next. I've a skirmish site to find, and a marker to place. Assuming I can find the place again; we were only there once, in a tearing hurry, and with a great many other things on our mind at the time. I hardly remember what the place looked like, aside from a general memory of twisting rocky passages and shrubs; it could just as easily have been some dire vale from the oh-so-aptly named Wounded Coast. What _is_ it about such places that they all look the same?  
  
As always, give my love to our mutual friend, and I send you this letter together with a small gaggle of new friends I've made out here in the wilderness - tired and hungry, and filled with horrors unspoken, as per usual for folk in their situation; I trust that you will please lend them what aid you can, and know that you do so with my gratitude.  
  
I will write again, Captain, O my Captain. I just need to get out from this barren country first. I need to find where my brother lies, and in doing so, perhaps also find myself.  
  
All my love,

> \- Your friend,  
>  Messere Stabby

  
(PS: The dog says hi, or I think he does, if two barks and urinating against a tree count as a greeting.)  
  
(PPS: Seriously. _Orzammar_. What will they think of next?!)


End file.
